


Death Is Just So Full

by enigmaticblue



Series: What's Behind and What's Before [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Community: trope_bingo, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prostitution, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Jim got out of Vice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Is Just So Full

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Underage sex, child abuse, prostitution of a child, but nothing too graphic. Canon-type violence.
> 
> Written for the hc_bingo prompt “prostitution” and the trope_bingo prompt “indecent proposal.” Title from the Mumford & Sons song, “After the Storm” For the record, I have no idea if self-lubricating strawberry flavored condoms exist (or if they existed when this story takes place), and I don’t want to know. So, just go with it. Also, the terminology used for sex workers in this story does not reflect the author’s feelings about the same.

_“Because death is just so full and man so small./Well, I’m scared of what’s behind and what’s before./And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears./And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears./Get over your hill and see what you find there,/With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.”_ ~Mumford  & Sons, “After the Storm”

 

The thing that Blair has always liked about Jim is his fairness. Even at his worst—when he’s stubborn and freaked out and angry—he’s still a decent guy who wants to do the right thing. In Blair’s world, that means Jim treats everyone equally, no matter their skin color or religion or class. Granted, Jim might be an asshole sometimes, but Jim is generally an equal opportunity asshole to people who annoy him. Jim doesn’t give a shit about race or creed or sexual orientation. He cares about what a person _does_ , and not what a person _is_.

 

Jim looks at _actions_ , which is where he and Blair have gotten tripped up in the past, since Blair can be more of a verbal guy sometimes.

 

But that’s all behind them now, and he and Jim are solid. Blair had to go through the Academy, and he’d spent a little over a year in uniform, but he’s back in Major Crimes, back to being partnered with Jim, and their solve rate is through the roof.

 

All of those things together are why Simon’s called them in today, and Blair knows from experience that Simon’s expression does not bode well.

 

“We may have a serial killer in Cascade, gentlemen,” Simon says, tossing a file down on his desk.

 

Jim picks it up but doesn’t open it just yet. “What makes you think that?”

 

“Three dead hookers, all killed with the same MO, all dumped in the same area,” Simon replies.

 

Jim raises his eyebrows. “I would have thought we’d have to fight Homicide for this one.”

 

“Two words: hookers and FBI,” Simon replies grimly.

 

Blair can’t resist. “Technically, FBI is an acronym.”

 

“Sandburg,” Simon growls.

 

He shrugs. “Just saying.”

 

Jim shoots him an amused look, but his voice is serious when he asks, “Why us?”

 

“Because your solve rate is the best in the city, and you’re our last best hope before we have to call in the feds,” Simon admits.

 

“And that explains why no one else wants it,” Jim says. “I thought there was a task force for this kind of thing?”

 

“The Green River Killer is behind bars,” Simon replies.

 

“Could be a copy cat,” Blair points out.

 

Simon shakes his head. “Different signature, and one of the victims is male.”

 

Now Jim does open the folder, and Blair looks over his shoulder. The first photo is of a young man, thin and dark-skinned. His features are obscured by a plastic bag, fogged up with condensation, and his skimpy clothing is disordered.

 

Jim grimaces. “He can’t be more than sixteen.”

 

“Seventeen,” Simon replies, his voice soft. “That was the latest.”

 

Jim flips the picture over to reveal the next one, a woman of about 20, also with a plastic bag over her head, although her shirt is rucked up, as is her skirt. This time, there’s another picture of the woman on a slab, this time with her face no longer obscured. She looks younger in this photo, her skin blue-tinged and waxy with death.

 

He flips over that photo, and while Jim doesn’t make a noise, Blair _feels_ his stillness, and he knows that the third victim means something to Jim.

 

“Jim?” Blair prompts.

 

This photo is the same as all the others. This woman is a little older, maybe in her mid-twenties, and pretty, but she looks worn, like she’s lived a hard life. Her skin is pale, her hair a bright red that clearly came out of a bottle, and she has a tattoo of some kind of bird on her right shoulder.

 

“I know her,” Jim says quietly.

 

Simon’s gaze sharpens. “How?”

 

“I met her when I was working Vice,” Jim says quietly. “She was—God, she was only fifteen or sixteen at the time. I thought—I thought maybe she got out of the life.”

 

“The life has a way of pulling you back in,” Blair replies quietly.

 

Jim shakes his head.

 

“Is this going to be a problem?” Simon asks.

 

When Jim looks up, his eyes are blazing. “No. I want this one, Simon.”

 

Simon nods. “I know you’ll give it your best, Jim.”

 

“I’ll catch the son of a bitch who did this,” Jim promises.

 

And Blair gets a sinking feeling, because he knows that tone of voice, and he’d thought they were past this, but Jim’s going to get obsessive.

 

Simon gives Blair a look, and Blair gets the message. He’s there to rein Jim in if necessary.

 

And Blair has a feeling that it’s going to be necessary.

 

~~~~~

 

Jim’s first weeks with Vice are pretty boring. He’s been told that he needs to dirty up his image if he’s going under cover, which means letting his hair grow out of the regulation length for patrol officers, and bypassing the razor for a while.

 

In the meantime, he gets stuck reading reports of successful busts and going through financial reports and cold cases. Three weeks later, he’s got a moustache and an earring, and he’s getting his first undercover gig.

 

“Miller prefers white guys as enforcers, and you’re big enough to qualify,” Harding says. “Plus, you’re a new face. We’ve got you a cover as a low-level enforcer who relocated from Chicago after things got too hot. We need you to work your way into Miller’s organization. We know he’s running drugs and girls, but the emphasis is on the drugs.”

 

Jim nods, knowing from his Ranger days just how much political will is behind the war on drugs right now. “I get it.”

 

“If you have to take something to seal the deal, just let us know, but Miller tends to prefer his muscle sharp, not high,” Harding says. “If you have to sleep with somebody, make sure you wrap up.”

 

Jim keeps his expression neutral; he’d known what he was getting into by accepting the job with Vice. He’d accepted because he misses the adrenalin high of the jungle, and he thinks Vice can offer him that.

 

“Got it,” he says evenly.

 

“Work with Matson to get the details, and remember that this is deep cover, so no contact with anybody you know,” Harding orders.

 

Jim doesn’t bother replying that there’s no one he wants to contact. “I understand.”

 

“Get out of here,” Harding orders.

 

The next couple of days are a whirlwind of activity as Jim learns the ins and outs of his cover. For this job, he’s going to be Jesse Danvers, two-bit thug and enforcer who did time at Stateville for armed robbery.

 

Danvers lives in a seedy apartment in a bad part of town, and he doesn’t take drugs because the only high he needs is violence. The dead drop is in place, and Jim’s handler sets up a meeting place at a gym near Danvers’ apartment, which is just as seedy and caters to thugs like Danvers.

 

His new life is all set up, and Jim moves into the apartment and starts his new routine. Miller recruits from the gym, so all Jim has to do is look good and make it known that he’s looking for work.

 

He has no doubt that Miller will fish around for information, but hopefully won’t find anything other than his cover.

 

Jim isn’t too surprised when he someone approaches him a couple of weeks after he’d started at the gym. Jim had memorized the mug shots of all of Miller’s known associates, and he recognizes Dermot Keller immediately.

 

“I hear you’re looking for work,” Keller says.

 

Jim shrugs. “New job usually goes with a new town.”

 

“You okay with busting kneecaps?” Keller asks.

 

Jim makes himself smirk. “Just point me in the right direction.”

 

The next few weeks are a series of small jobs, and Jim knows he’s being tested. As he beats people up for money, he salves his conscience with the knowledge that they’re all drug dealers, and maybe a beat down now will dissuade them from dealing in the future.

 

Jim loses himself in Danvers’ life, in his persona, and he forgets Jim Ellison, former Army Ranger, cop on the fast track to promotion, newly minted detective. He’s Jesse Danvers, enforcer.

 

Living as Jesse Danvers is the only way Jim is going to get the job done with his sanity intact.

 

~~~~~

 

They spend the morning going over the forensic evidence, and when it doesn’t look like Jim’s going to take a break for lunch, Blair stands up and says, “Come on, big guy. You’ll think better with food in your stomach.”

 

“You go without me,” Jim mutters.

 

Blair clears his throat. “As your partner, I’m going to insist.”

 

Jim gives him a sour look. “I’m going to regret that, huh?”

 

“We can go to Wonderburger,” Blair says, holding out the ultimate temptation.

 

Jim glares. “That’s bribery of an officer of the law.”

 

“Hey, I’m just suggesting we go to your favorite fast food place for lunch,” Blair counters.

 

They had talked about Blair taking the badge, back before he’d accepted Simon’s offer. At the time, Blair had laid down the law. If he’s going to be Jim’s partner, he has to be an equal.

 

He remembers what he’d said at the time: “That means I get to call you out when you’re being stupid, or when I think you’re being self-destructive, and it means you have to listen to me. And if I ever suggest we go to Wonderburger, you have to promise to go.”

 

In a sense, it’s a little like a safe word, and Jim promised to abide by it.

 

Now, Jim rubs his eyes and sighs and says, “I’m not really in the mood for Wonderburger. How about we go to that Thai place you swear by?”

 

Blair frowns. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

“I’m just not all that hungry,” Jim replies. “I’ll get soup or something.”

 

“Yeah, okay, if that’s what you want,” Blair says, since at least Jim’s getting out of the office, and Blair prefers Thai food at his favorite hole-in-the-wall to Wonderburger any day.

 

Jim shrugs. “It’s more about what you want, Chief.”

 

That bothers Blair, too, but he shrugs into his jacket and shadows Jim out. The Thai place is only a few blocks away, so they walk, in spite of the drizzle and the cooler temperatures. It’s October, and it’s only the second year that fall hasn’t meant a return to the academic grind.

 

Seasons are a little different now, marked by the weather, and how uncomfortable Blair is going to be on a stakeout or chasing after a suspect. He’s no longer following the academic calendar.

 

The Thai place has maybe a dozen tables, but it’s late enough that they get seated immediately. They’re in a corner towards the back, which feels secluded, and that’s for the best, since Blair intends on getting some answers.

 

True to what Jim had said, he orders the Tom Kha Gai with spring rolls, and Blair goes with a green curry.

 

“Spill, man,” Blair says once their food comes. “There was a story behind that picture.”

 

“I told you the story,” Jim says. “I met her when I was working Vice, and now she’s dead. I’m going to catch the son of a bitch who killed her.”

 

“So you said,” Blair replies dryly. “I think it’s probably a little more complicated.”

 

Jim sighs. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a stubborn—” he stops. “Never mind.”

 

Blair can guess how Jim had planned on finishing that comment, and it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, but he appreciates Jim’s restraint. “Pot, kettle,” Blair says around a mouthful of curry. “Come on, Jim. If we’re working this case together, I need to know.”

 

Jim grimaces. “You’ve never worked deep cover.”

 

“Okay, no, but I’m an anthropologist. I’ve immersed myself in cultures before,” Blair replies.

 

Jim is quiet for a long moment. “You never had to become someone else to do that.”

 

Blair nods. Jim’s got him there. “Okay, no. I’m guessing it wasn’t pleasant.”

 

“It was my first undercover assignment,” Jim says slowly. “I was playing some low-level thug in order to get into a major dealer’s organization. Mostly, I just busted up dealers who were stupid enough to owe him money.”

 

Jim is no stranger to violence, but it pains Blair to think of him playing the part of someone’s attack dog. “How long were you undercover?”

 

“Six months,” Jim replies. “Just long enough to get information on the shipment of pure heroin coming into Cascade, and then I got out with enough evidence to put Miller away for life.”

 

“And the girl?” Blair prompts.

 

“Her name was Kelly,” Jim says with quiet heat. “Kelly O’Malley.”

 

“Irish,” Blair says.

 

“On her dad’s side anyway, not that he was around.” Jim shakes his head. “I never did any drugs undercover. Miller liked his guys sharp, but he would have been suspicious if I didn’t express an interest in the girls.”

 

Blair gets a sinking feeling. “You slept with her?”

 

Jim shakes his head. “No, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on Miller’s part.”

 

~~~~~

 

Jim is finally working his way into Miller’s inner circle, and he’s been invited to a house party. There are drugs everywhere, of course, but Jim isn’t expected to partake—or, rather, _Jesse_ isn’t.

 

He has a beer in his hand, and he’s faking being drunker than he is.

 

“Jesse!” Miller calls. “I hear you’ve been doing good work.”

 

He tries not to think about what Miller considers “good work.” “Just doing my best, Mr. Miller,” he replies, trying for humble without being too obsequious.

 

“And good work deserves a reward,” Miller replies, waving at one of his lieutenants.

 

Jim knows him as Blake Carlisle, a young punk who’s been working his way up in Miller’s organization since he was fourteen. He’s known as a trafficker, a pimp who procures girls for Miller and his crowd.

 

Carlisle comes over, pulling along a teenage girl who can’t be more than sixteen. Her hair is strawberry-blonde, and her eyes are a bright green. The smattering of freckles across her nose just makes her look younger.

 

She’s not Jim’s type at all, but Jesse probably doesn’t ask for identification before he climbs into bed with a girl to make sure she’s of age. Her pupils are dilated, and Jim can read the signs that she’s on something.

 

“Should be a bedroom upstairs if you want privacy,” Miller suggests with a leer.

 

There’s no way Jim can refuse gracefully, but he’s not about to rape a sixteen year old girl either. “Pretty girl,” he says, trying to buy a little time.

 

“I only employ pretty girls,” Carlisle says with a smirk.

 

Jim’s flesh crawls, but he forces a smile anyway. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

 

“Kelly,” she says with a flirtatious smile that’s a little brittle around the edges.

 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Jim says.

 

Jesse Danvers wouldn’t be gentle, so Jim grabs her around the upper arm, although he tries not to grip too hard.

 

“You like it rough?” Kelly asks with a smile.

 

Jim swallows back bile. “Sometimes,” he says. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’d hate to bruise you up too much.”

 

He finds an empty bedroom and sits her down on the bed, pausing for a moment to gather his wits, and then makes a quick decision. “Listen, I’m not going to have sex with you.”

 

The fear that fills her face breaks his heart, something he hadn’t thought possible. “If you’re not satisfied—”

 

“I don’t fuck kids,” he says, “but I couldn’t turn Miller down, and I’m guessing you can’t turn Carlisle down. So, we’re going to sit here, and then we’re going back out there, and I’m going to tell them that you were a great fuck.”

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

“I thought we could talk,” Jim replies. “Maybe you could tell me how you and Carlisle met.”

 

Kelly’s expression is deeply suspicious. “That’s all you want to do?”

 

“That’s it,” Jim replies. “Although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Carlisle or Miller.”

 

Her smile is hesitant. “And get myself into trouble?”

 

Jim grins. “Let’s both of us stay out of trouble.”

 

~~~~~

 

“Did she give you away?” Blair asks as he finishes up his lunch. He can picture the scene easily. When he wants to be, Jim can be sweet and good with victims.

 

Jim shakes his head. “No, I think she suspected, but she never said anything. When we finally made the bust, Carlisle went down, and I made sure she didn’t have to testify. She had an aunt who was willing to take her in, and I thought she was going to get clean and go straight. I checked on her a couple of times, and she seemed to be doing okay, but then I just got busy and lost track.”

 

Blair frowns. “Jim, man, you know this isn’t your fault, right? The statistics—”

 

“She’s not a fucking statistic,” Jim snaps, then immediately looks contrite. “I’m sorry, Chief. This is just—”

 

“It sucks, but we’ll find out who was responsible, and we’ll take them down,” Blair promises. “Let’s get back to the station, and go over the evidence again. We can visit the last crime scene, too, see if you can pick up on something the techs missed.”

 

Jim nods. “Yeah, good idea, Chief.”

 

They work the case as they’ve done so many times before, visiting the scene of the last murder to avoid the loss of any more evidence. It’s been cleared, the evidence bagged, and there’s not much to look at. It’s an alley just like any other, full of detritus, the scents of rotting garbage and other things best unnamed, and the drizzle isn’t helping.

 

“Anything?” Blair asks.

 

Jim shakes his head. “There are too many odors. Maybe if I’d been able to see the scene with the body.”

 

“We could visit the coroner,” Blair suggests. “But until then, maybe dial up, try to filter out what does belong and locate anything out of the ordinary.”

 

Jim wrinkles his nose but doesn’t voice a complaint. He puts a hand on Blair’s shoulder, his expression one of intense concentration. He gags slightly, just once, and Blair says, “Dial it back. Filter it out.”

 

Jim nods sharply, and then he shakes his head. “Nothing. No smells out of the ordinary, and I don’t think our murderer left anything behind.”

 

“Let’s check the coroner, then,” Blair says. “Maybe there will be something left on the body.”

 

The body just makes Blair impossibly sad. The kid is—was—thin, clearly malnourished, and the scars on the inside of his arms mark him as a junkie. He’s just so damn young.

 

“I haven’t started the autopsy yet, and I’ve collected samples from under his fingernails, but I have no idea if we’ll get anything,” Dan Wolf says. “There were signs of sexual activity, but the perpetrator appears to have used a condom.”

 

“Same with the other victims?” Jim asks.

 

Dan nods. “Far as I could tell. Cause of death is the same, though. He hit them in the back of the head, put a plastic bag over their faces, and then they suffocated.”

 

Jim begins to go over the body inch by inch, and Dan is used to Jim’s methods at this point, so he just stands back and watches. “Here,” Jim says finally. “There’s bruising around his upper arms.” He spreads out his hands and says, “He’s a big guy, maybe as big as I am.”

 

Blair gets an idea. “What about the plastic bags he used? Can we get a print off one of those?”

 

Dan shakes his head. “You can check with the lab, but that kind of plastic doesn’t hold prints well.”

 

“Thanks, Dan,” Jim says absently.

 

“You got something?” Blair asks.

 

“He smelled sweet,” Jim replies.

 

Blair frowns. “Okay, that is something that I definitely did not catch.”

 

“Like flavored lube,” Jim clarifies.

 

Blair blinks. “Do I want to know how you know what that smells like?”

 

Jim smirks. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sandburg.”

 

“Granted,” Blair replies. “But still, flavored lube, man.”

 

Jim grins and doesn’t respond, and Blair is just happy to see him looking more like himself.

 

The lab hasn’t been able to find any prints on the plastic bags, and Jim asks them to check for traces of lube, and to do an analysis of the chemical makeup so they can track down a manufacturer.

 

They return to the evidence and go over every piece until midnight, when Blair insists that they go home. Of course, they barely get through the door when the phone rings.

 

“Oh, shit,” Blair mutters.

 

“No rest for the wicked,” Jim says philosophically. “And the righteous don’t need any.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Blair replies as Jim picks up the phone.

 

Jim’s face goes still and blank. “I see. We’ll be right there.”

 

“Another dead body?” Blair asks.

 

He nods. “Another dead hooker. This one was sixteen.”

 

“I feel like that should be another dead _kid_ ,” Blair objects.

 

Jim closes his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

 

Kelly had been a kid when Jim had tried to save her, and she’s dead now, in spite of Jim’s best efforts.

 

“It’s still not your fault,” Blair says.

 

Jim shakes his head. “I hear you.”

 

He doesn’t sound like he believes it, but Blair lets that go. “Okay, then I guess we deal with it. It’s a chance to gather more evidence, right?”

 

“This guy is going to make a mistake eventually,” Jim replies grimly. “They all do.”

 

The fresh crime scene is an opportunity to see the killer’s work up close and personal, and really, Blair could have done without, but he can’t deny that it will help them catch the guy.

 

This case is actually rather mundane outside of the serial killer aspect, and Blair could have done without _that_ , too, and he ruthlessly shoves aside any thoughts of Lash.

 

This time, the victim is female with dyed blonde hair, her skimpy black tank top rucked up around her neck, her skirt around her waist. “Same lube,” Jim says in an undertone as he examines the body closely.

 

“There are plenty of people who use flavored lube, right?” Blair asks quietly.

 

Jim quirks an eyebrow. “In a city the size of Cascade? Probably, but at least it gives us a starting point.”

 

“It could be part of his signature, along with the bag,” Blair suggests.

 

“We’ll have to wait for the lab guys to get back to us,” Jim replies. “I’m kind of hoping for a rare brand.”

 

“That would make things easier,” Blair agrees. “Anything else?”

 

Jim smiles in a predatory way that tells Blair he’s found something important. “I think our killer just fucked up.”

 

He holds out a hand for an evidence bag, and one of the uniforms scrambles to provide it, which is possibly a product of Jim becoming something of a legend in the CPD.

 

“What is it?” Blair asks.

 

“A hair, and it’s got a root attached,” Jim replies, removing a hair from the victim’s tightly clenched hand. “My guess is that she managed to pull it out when the killer suffocated her.”

 

Blair gets a better look at it, and he can’t disagree. Their victim is blonde, even if it’s artificial, and the hair is short and dark. It might have come from another client, but even if that’s the case, they’ll still find a guy who had sex with an underage prostitute. “Let’s hope so, man,” he agrees. “You think we could maybe get some sleep?”

 

Jim gives him a sharp look and says, “Sure. There’s nothing for us here until we get the results from the lab.”

 

Blair really doesn’t want to know how tired Jim must be in order to listen to reason. “All right then.”

 

There are procedures to follow, of course, and they question the beat cops and the first responders, just to make sure they have all the necessary information. It’s nearly dawn by the time they get back to the loft, and Jim says, “I’ll call Simon, let him know we’ll be in late, if you want the first shower.”

 

And suddenly, Blair wants nothing more than to wash off the day he’s had, and he wonders if Jim had felt like this a lot in Vice, not that Blair plans on asking him.

 

When he gets out of the shower, Blair still feels wired, like there’s no chance he’ll be able to get to sleep anytime soon, so he collapses on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. Eventually, Jim joins him. “You okay?”

 

Blair shakes his head wordlessly. He doesn’t want to admit that sometimes he wonders if he’ll ever be able to do anybody any good. They see victims of crime every day, but Blair wants to prevent bad things from happening, rather than being on the cleanup crew.

 

Jim is silent for a moment, and then he asks, “Did I ever tell you about Lady G?”

 

“G?” Blair asks, momentarily confused.

 

Jim chuckles. “Godwin Godfrey, the third. You can see why she went by Lady G.”

 

“It makes perfect sense,” Blair replies, even though it doesn’t. “Did you meet him—or her—when you were on Vice?”

 

“Yeah, I was working another case at that point, this time with a different cover, just getting to know the neighborhood. Kelly lived around there; that was the last time I saw her until…you know.”

 

Blair just watches him steadily, realizing that he’s getting more information out of Jim on this case than he has in a long time. “I know. So, what about Lady G?”

 

“She kind of took me under her wing,” Jim admits. “Which probably sounds strange, but she was good people.”

 

~~~~~

 

Eight months into his stint with Vice, and Jim doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He knows he’s taken some stupid chances, and that he’s unhappy, but he doesn’t know why. He’s getting drug dealers off the street, after all. His work is challenging, and sometimes life threatening, but he feels hollow at the end of most days.

 

Harding had been pretty careful at the end of the Miller case to keep Jesse Danvers out of it. Jim’s anonymous tip through a CI had been enough for the search warrant that had netted them the 600 kilos of heroin Miller had been trying to move through the docks.

 

Jim—or Jesse Danvers, rather—had done what any two-bit hood would do when his boss got popped for a major distribution charge. He goes to ground, moving apartments to another area of Cascade, just as unsavory as the last. He grows his hair out a little longer yet, until it’s driving him crazy, and starts sporting a full beard. He switches aliases, which isn’t terribly uncommon among the criminal class, and Danvers had always been pretty low level.

 

So, now Jim is Jeff Ennis, and he joins a new gym, and digs in, knowing that he’ll soon get another job offer, this time from Giglio’s crew.

 

He still has his dead drop, and the occasional meeting with his handler, but Harding has decided that he’s better off out in the field, trolling for bad guys.

 

In the back of his mind, Jim knows this is the kind of assignment that leads to good cops taking insane risks, because why the hell not, when you were out in the cold anyway.

 

His time with the Chopec had been different, because there had been others who had his back, and listened to his orders. Right now, Jim has nobody.

 

That day, he takes a risk, and goes by the house where he knows Kelly is staying with her aunt. Thankfully, she’s home alone, and she opens the door immediately when she recognizes him. “Jesse, hey.”

 

Jim doesn’t bother to correct her. “Hey. You doing okay?”

 

“Thanks to you,” Kelly replies, although there’s something a little brittle about her smile, like there’s more to the story that she’s not sharing. “My aunt is great.”

 

“If she’s not, I can find you another place,” he offers, although he knows his options are limited. They’d been lucky to find a relative willing to take Kelly, and he suspects she knows that.

 

“Aunt Mary works long hours, but there’s food in the fridge, and she never makes me put out.” As a joke, it falls flat, and Kelly grimaces. “Sorry.”

 

Jim clears his throat, wishing he could tell her the truth. “No, it’s fine. I just, I wanted to be sure you were okay. I wanted to know that someone landed on their feet after that mess.”

 

Kelly gives him a sharp look, as though she knows that Jim is more than his alias, more than the thug who doesn’t like underage girls, although that’s probably remarkable enough to send up a red flag. “I’m okay,” she insists, and her oversized sweatshirt falls down over one shoulder, revealing a brand new tattoo of a bird.

 

Jim knows it’s brand new, because he would have seen it, given the skimpy clothing she’d been wearing at their last meeting.

 

Her eyes catch his, and she tugs his shirt down a little farther to reveal skin still slightly inflamed from the needle. “It’s a hummingbird,” Kelly explains. “I just—they’re beautiful, and I wanted something beautiful in my skin.”

 

Jim has never been one to be interested in tattoos, but he doesn’t let that show. “It’s very pretty.” Under the hummingbird, in cursive, the script reads “free at last.” “I think it’s perfect.”

 

“My aunt hates it,” Kelly says. “She wants me to forget everything that happened and just, I don’t know, become a model citizen.”

 

“I think the only thing you can do is the best you can,” he offers, feeling out of his depth. “Maybe your aunt doesn’t know what it’s like to be fucked up in the head.”

 

Kelly raises her eyebrows. “Do you?”

 

Jim meets her eyes steadily, not saying anything, but letting his guard down, and Kelly is the first to look away. “Yeah, I guess you do,” she says. “Hey, take care of yourself, okay? I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Jim objects.

 

“You treated me like a human being,” Kelly counters. “I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

 

Jim leaves the apartment feeling unsettled. He’s no one’s savior, no one’s hero. He’d survived Peru, but only with help. The truth is that he hadn’t been able to save anybody on his team.

 

And that’s just the bare minimum of what he knows, because his memories are hazy, and he’s repressed a lot of that.

 

He’s lost in thought on the trek back home when he hears sounds from an alleyway. His first thought is to pass right on by, because that’s what Jeff Ennis would do, but there’s some part of Jim that doesn’t want to give up on the idea of protecting those who can’t protect themselves.

 

That’s why he’d joined the police force.

 

The kids are all wearing the colors of a local gang, an offshoot of the Crips, Jim thinks, and that tells Jim a lot. Giglio hasn’t cemented his control over the area yet, and the gangs are trying to get a piece of the action.

 

But they’re punk kids, and it’s six to one against a person wearing a dress and heels, and Jim’s instincts kick in before he can check them.

 

“Hey!” he shouts. “You want me to call the cops, or just beat the shit out of all of you?”

 

They all glance up, and the oldest probably isn’t more than sixteen and a few inches over five feet. Even in a crowd, they don’t have much on Jim and his height, and the bulge of the gun in his side holster. It’s dangerous, but Jim isn’t stupid enough to wander around this neighborhood unarmed, and if he has to burn this identity, he will.

 

A dead cop isn’t much more than a rallying point, after all.

 

The kids run off, and their victim slowly sits up, and— Well, Jim’s an open-minded sort of person, but he blanks on the pronoun, since the victim looks to be taller than he is in heels, dressed in a leopard print mini-dress and faux fur coat, and stilettos. Jim runs through the description like the cop he is—long dark hair streaked with blonde highlights, medium brown skin, brown eyes, well built.

 

After that, his mental description fails Jim and he asks, “Are you okay?”

 

“Little beat up, but nothing I can’t handle,” comes the response in a low, melodious voice. “But if you’d help me up, I’d appreciate it.”

 

Jim offers him—no, her—a hand and says, “I’m Jeff,” just barely remembering his undercover identity.

 

“You can call me Lady G, if you feel like being a gentleman,” she replies. “But all my friends call me G.”

 

Jim offers an arm. “Well, then Lady G, let me walk you home.”

 

She gives him an appraising look, and then beams. “Well, looks like you are a gentleman after all.”

 

They walk arm in arm to her house, and Jim doesn’t really feel strange about it, mostly because it’s rare for him to feel this sense of accomplishment. He’d helped Kelly, and now he was helping another innocent, and it felt a hell of a lot better than playing the role of enforcer for some drug dealer.

 

“You want to come in for a drink?” G asks when Jim walks her to the front door of a tiny little box of a house.

 

Jim hesitates, and then nods. “Yeah, a drink would be good.”

 

The house and yard are meticulously maintained, and the inside is neat as a pin. Jim relaxes immediately, a part of him feeling as though he’s met a kindred spirit.

 

Lady G steps out of her heels, and now she’s about Jim’s height, maybe a hair taller, and she hangs up her coat on a rack tucked into a corner. “I’d offer to take your jacket, but I’d rather not end up staring at that piece you’re carrying.”

 

Jim shrugs. “I’m fine the way I am.”

 

She blatantly checks him out. “Yes, as a matter of fact, you are.”

 

It’s so outrageous that Jim laughs, and she laughs with him, sharing in the joke. “You’re certainly a different sort of specimen than I’m used to seeing around here,” Lady G says, pulling a couple of glasses down from a cupboard, and pouring a couple of fingers of Jack into each glass. “So, current or ex?”

 

Jim blinks and takes a sip. “Current or ex what?”

 

“Cop,” she says succinctly, but she waits for him to take a drink, which promptly goes down the wrong tube. “Oh, relax,” she says as he coughs. “Even if you hadn’t saved my life, or at least my dignity, I wouldn’t give you away. This neighborhood could use fewer drug dealers, if you know what I mean.”

 

Jim wonders if he’s that obvious to everybody. “How did you know?”

 

“Most of the gang bangers and dealers shove their guns in their pants,” Lady G points out. “And ex-cops generally walk right past when someone like me is getting beat up. I just wasn’t clear on whether you were undercover, or just some knight in shining armor. Guys like you don’t look out for people like me, not as a general rule.”

 

Jim thinks about Kelly, and her comment that Jim had treated her like a person. There’s some quiet voice in the back of his head that says no one deserves to feel like a freak, that he knows what it’s like, but he’s not sure where that voice comes from.

 

“Everybody deserves to be treated with respect,” Jim insists.

 

Lady G nods. “Just be careful that impulse doesn’t get you killed. Guys like the person you’re supposed to be don’t come riding to the rescue.”

 

But that doesn’t sit right with Jim, who can’t imagine walking past someone getting the shit kicked out of them without trying to stop it. “I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

 

Lady G nods. “Good. And if you ever need to come unwind with pleasant company, you know where I live.”

 

“I might just take you up on that,” Jim replies, and relaxes for the first time in months.

 

~~~~~

 

“What happened to her?” Blair asks fearfully, trying and failing to imagine Jim sitting comfortably at a table, sipping whiskey with a transwoman.

 

Jim chuckles. “Oh, she’s fine, Chief. Wound up moving down the coast, buying a bar, and setting up shop. I still get a postcard from her on occasion. She always asks me when I plan on settling down with some nice boy or girl.”

 

Blair blinks. “You didn’t tell her that you’re not gay?”

 

Jim gives him a mildly annoyed look. “No, why would I?”

 

“Because I—” Blair stops. “You’re bi.”

 

“Not something I advertise, but yeah,” Jim agrees. “Obviously, I wasn’t out in the military, and being out at the station opens you up to a lot of shit. I like women well enough, so it’s never been an issue.”

 

There are so many places Blair would love to go with that statement, so many questions he’d like to ask, such as whether Jim had ever thought about Blair in that way. But right now doesn’t seem like the time because Blair is exhausted, his eyes are beginning to droop, and they still have a serial killer to catch.

 

But once this is all over, Blair thinks he might want to have that conversation.

 

They do sleep late, even Jim, who has a tendency to be an early riser even when it’s not strictly necessary. In fact, they’re late enough that they stop for sandwiches at the deli on the way in, and eat them in the car before entering the office.

 

Blair suspects that they aren’t going to get another chance to eat any time soon.

 

The lab has their results when they drop by, and it’s one of the younger, newer techs who answers their questions. Mark is eager to tell them everything he’s found.

 

“You were right about it being a specialty brand,” he says. “Self-lubricating strawberry flavored condoms, sold in all of the sex shops in Cascade, and elsewhere.”

 

Jim almost looks amused. “Did you call each one?”

 

Mark flushes. “Yes, sir. Apparently, they’re pretty popular.” He hesitates and quickly says, “I didn’t tell them I was a police officer or anything. I just said I was looking for them because my girlfriend liked them. That’s okay, right?”

 

Blair pats him comfortingly on the shoulder. “That’s fine, Mark. It gives us a place to start.”

 

“Unless they’ve got security cameras or very observant clerks, we’re not going to get anywhere with the shops,” Jim says slowly as they leave the lab. It will take time to run the DNA, and that’s time they don’t have.

 

Blair considers that. “We’re left with two options here. Either it’s the murderer who’s procuring the condoms, or it’s the victims, right? So, let’s figure out what the closest sex shop is to the murders, and start showing some pictures.”

 

Jim gives him an approving look. “Good thinking, Chief.”

 

They check in with Simon, who looks somber. “I can give you two days, gentlemen, and no more. The mayor is breathing down my neck.”

 

“We’ve got a promising lead,” Jim says. “We’re on our way out to track it down now.”

 

Simon nods. “What’s that?”

 

“Strawberry-flavored condoms,” Jim replies.

 

Simon waves them out. “I don’t want to know more. Go, and keep me in the loop.”

 

They hit the jackpot at the first shop they stop at, and Jim tucks his badge in his pocket where it won’t be seen. “Just follow my lead, Chief.”

 

Blair tucks his badge away and shrugs. “Sure thing.”

 

When Jim steps inside the shop, he seems to relax, a warm smile on his face. “You got any particular flavor in mind?”

 

Blair’s mind goes blank. “Uh…”

 

“Can I help you gentlemen?” A young woman with brightly colored hair turns up. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

 

“Flavored condoms,” Jim replies. “Lubed is good. My, uh, friend here is trying to decide on a flavor.”

 

Blair feels himself blushing, and he probably wouldn’t be nearly as affected if he hadn’t been nursing a crush on Jim for the last few years. “It wouldn’t have to be flavored,” he says weakly. “I just—don’t really want to taste latex, you know?”

 

The woman beams at them. “Well, I’m Britt, and I’m happy to show you what we have. Strawberry seems to be a very popular flavor.”

 

“Is that right?” Jim asks. “You like strawberry, Blair?”

 

Blair makes a face. “Not unless it actually tastes like strawberries.”

 

“Well, you can always buy non-lubricated condoms and then get flavored lubricant,” Britt suggests. “The flavored lubricants actually taste better than the condoms.”

 

“Are strawberry flavored condoms really that popular?” Blair asks.

 

Britt shrugs. “Around here they are. A lot of the, um, workers use them for oral sex, especially the young ones.”

 

Jim fishes in his pocket for his badge and shows it to her. “We don’t want any trouble, and we don’t want to get _you_ into any trouble. But we need to know about your regulars.”

 

Britt sighs. “It’s about the dead kids, isn’t it?”

 

“You know any of them?” Jim asks gently.

 

She shrugs. “Sure, to nod at. Most of them worked in this area, and Steve—the storeowner—gives them a discount on condoms. Figures if it keeps them safer, why not, right?”

 

“That’s a good thing you’re doing,” Blair says.

 

“I don’t have to look at any photos, do I?” Britt asks, going a little pale. “I mean, I know who got killed, and I can tell you that they were all in here.”

 

“Kelly?” Jim asks.

 

She frowns. “You knew her?”

 

“I did at one point,” Jim says. “It’s personal for me.”

 

Britt’s smile is bitter. “You’d be one of the few cops who cares then.”

 

“Why do you think my captain put me on this detail?” Jim asks. “Next step is the feds, and you know what they’re like.”

 

She snorts. “Yeah, no thanks. What do you want to know?”

 

Jim pulls the information out of her slowly, gently—what kids were in here buying flavored condoms, where they worked, what she knew about the victims. At one point, Jim mentions Lady G, and Britt laughs delightedly. “Cam’s told me stories about her. You know her?”

 

“Yeah, she’s got a bar now down the coast,” Jim replies. “Live entertainment every Thursday. I keep meaning to go.”

 

“That would be a hoot,” Britt says, and then gives Jim a measuring look. “You’re not as straight-laced as I thought.”

 

Jim hitches a shoulder. “No, not really.”

 

“Okay, so, I don’t have anything solid on this guy, and we get a lot of creeps around here, you know?” Britt begins.

 

Jim nods. “Yeah, I’m sure. You aren’t working late tonight, are you?”

 

“My girlfriend is picking me up,” Britt says. “And she’s a firefighter, and sometimes she comes with friends. I’m good.”

 

“Okay,” Jim says.

 

“This creep has just been—around,” Britt says. “He’s probably in his forties, pale, like he doesn’t get out much, kind of flabby. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him but he stares at the working girls, you know? The boys, too. Like he wants to approach but doesn’t have the balls or something.”

 

A light kindles in Jim’s eyes. “Dark hair?”

 

She nods. “From what I could tell, yeah. Didn’t get a good look at his eyes. He’s a big guy, though. Big hands. I wouldn’t have noticed, but he came in here once or twice and fondled the merchandise.”

 

Jim pulls out a card. “He comes in here again, give me a call. Or if you need an escort home because your girlfriend couldn’t pick you up.”

 

Britt takes the card and tucks it in her back pocket. “Thanks. You’re all right for a cop.”

 

“I try,” Jim replies. Then he pauses, and says, “Could I get one of those strawberry condoms that are so popular?”

 

Britt rummages around behind the counter and pulls out a single. “More than that, I’ll have to charge you, but I can give you a police discount,” she adds with a smirk.

 

“One’s all I need for now,” Jim replies. “But if I need anything else, I’ll be sure to come here.”

 

“I get paid partly on commission!” Britt says cheekily.

 

Blair’s a little surprised when Jim rips the condom wrapper open just as soon as they step outside the door, and he takes a deep breath.

 

“Jim, man, you heard her,” Blair says quietly. “A lot of people use them around here.”

 

“We got two choices,” Jim replies, his eyes a little unfocused, and Blair wraps a hand around Jim’s wrist to keep him grounded. “We trawl the area, see if we can find this guy, or we wait for DNA, by which time he’ll probably have killed again. This is what we’ve got, Chief.”

 

It’s a fair point, and not something Blair can argue. “They’re going to steer clear if there’s two of us, you know.”

 

“That’s why you’re going to follow me at a discreet distance,” Jim replies. “Stay on the other side of the street if you can. For the record, I’m looking for my sister.”

 

Blair understands Jim’s reasoning. Jim could go in as a john, but he’d have to weed through the girls interested in giving him a blowjob. This way, they’ll be wary, but might offer up some information.

 

“What am I going to do?” Blair asks.

 

“Blend,” Jim advises dryly, and then he’s off.

 

Blair closes his eyes and wishes he hadn’t cut his hair off for the Academy. It’s harder for him to pose as a student these days, someone who’s just looking for knowledge. He’s starting to look like a cop, and he doesn’t have Jim’s experience going undercover and becoming someone new.

 

But really, all he needs to be right now is Blair Sandburg pre-badge, and start talking to people.

 

Hell, he’d impersonated a social worker before. He could do it again.

 

There are charities in the area that provide outreach to street kids and sex workers, and so Blair began working his way down the street, trying to keep Jim in sight, giving out quiet warnings. Most of the kids had already heard about the murders and were trying to band together, but that was hard to do when johns wanted one-on-one time.

 

Blair passes along the information from Britt, suggesting they stick to johns who were younger or older, and don’t have dark hair.

 

“Describes a lot of guys around here,” one bored teenage boy says. He’s wearing jeans that are more hole than cloth and a sleeveless shirt that’s been ripped down either side, showing off a lean chest. There are track marks on his arms, and Blair wishes once again that he could do more.

 

“Maybe,” Blair allows. “But there’s a killer out there right now, so listen to your gut, all right?”

 

If the kid even has any instincts, Blair thinks, dulled as they have to be by the drugs and lack of sleep and food.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

 

Jim’s gotten ahead of him, and Blair moves a little more quickly, wanting to catch up, when a young girl grabs his arm. “I know who you’re looking for,” she whispers, looking scared.

 

It could be a trap, or maybe she does know something. She’s probably only fifteen, but clean enough that she probably has somewhere to sleep. “Jim, I need you,” Blair says at regular volume, and waits until Jim turns around and starts heading their direction. “Show me,” Blair says.

 

She’s observant enough to have caught that interplay, and to know that Jim had been too far away to hear Blair unless he’d been wearing a wire or had some other assistive device.

 

“You’re not wearing a wire,” she observes.

 

Blair raises his eyebrows. “How can you tell?”

 

“No hum,” she says. “You have to hurry, because I think he was ready to choose another.”

 

“What’s your name?” Blair asks.

 

She shakes her head. “No names. Not ever. Too much power.”

 

Blair tries another tactic. “Have you seen him kill anybody?”

 

“Heard it,” she says. “Maybe. Hard to tell, really.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I hear things that aren’t there, not where I can see them,” she replies.

 

Blair swallows. “Is there something I can call you?” When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “My name is Blair.”

 

“ _He_ doesn’t call you that.”

 

Blair frowns. “What does he call me?” He’s not sure what she’s referring to.

 

“Chief.”

 

Blair officially has _zero_ ideas for how to respond to the girl. “Where are we going?”

 

“There.”

 

They reach an alley, and there’s a man at the other end, and Blair recognizes him from Britt’s description. He’s big, and pale, and he doesn’t look quite _right_. Blair can’t put his finger on why, but he trusts his instincts. He turns to look at the girl, but she’s gone already, like a ghost, and Blair’s left wondering if he’d imagined her.

 

“What have you got, Chief?” Jim asks, materializing behind him. “Is that our guy?”

 

“According to my mysterious guide,” Blair replies. “She was here, and then she was gone. Jim, man, I think she might be a Sentinel”

 

“One thing at a time,” Jim insists. “Killer first, potential teenage Sentinel later.”

 

The fact that Jim isn’t denying that there might be a teenage Sentinel is probably good enough. “She said she heard the killings, but she couldn’t see them.”

 

“Let’s follow him,” Jim finally says. “We might be able to hold him on the evidence we have, and if he doesn’t make a move by the end of the night, I’ll take that risk, but I want more.”

 

“More” means catching him in the act, but Blair can’t argue. They might have his DNA, but they won’t know for a while, and if he’s not in the system, they’ll need a clean arrest and a warrant.

 

“Stay on the street,” Jim says. “I’m going up high.”

 

It’s risky, since Jim would have a hard time convincing a jury he’d seen the perp kill another person from several stories up, but it’s worth it.

 

In reality, they don’t have to wait long. Their potential murderer stays in the mouth of the alley, and eventually calls over a young man who couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.

 

Blair could arrest him for solicitation, or even statutory rape, depending on the kid’s age, but he stays where he is. He’s disgusted, and he doesn’t want to watch, but he has a strong feeling that this is their guy.

 

The kid sucks the man’s cock, and then removes the condom and ties it off. Blair is too far away to hear what he’s saying, but he sees the hopeful smile on the kid’s face, and he can extrapolate. The kid is angling for more, for another encounter, a bigger payday, and the man reaches in his back pocket.

 

Blair sees the plastic bag balled up in his fist before the kid does, and he starts to move immediately. Even then, the perp gets the bag over the kid’s head and starts to suffocate him.

 

Blair doesn’t want to shoot, but he doesn’t feel like he has the time to mess around either. He runs down the alley as silently as possible, drawing his weapon and pressing it against the base of the man’s skull. “Let him go.”

 

The perp lets go of the kid but whirls so quickly that Blair doesn’t even have a chance to fire his gun before it does sliding across the ground. And now the man’s hands are around his throat, squeezing hard, and he’s saying, “Pretty boy,” and Blair is pretty sure he’s going to have some serious nightmares if he survives this.

 

There’s the sound of a gun firing, and then the top of the man’s head is just _gone._

 

The perp falls, thankfully releasing Blair as he does so, and Blair breathes in and out heavily. The kid who had given their murderer a blowjob had run as soon as the guy had let him go, and Blair can’t really blame him.

 

Blair is still trying to get his breath back when Jim joins him. “I’ve called it in,” he says. “Shouldn’t be any trouble.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Blair says, thinking of his lost gun, and he starts looking for it. “I shouldn’t have gotten so close. Rookie mistake.”

 

Jim claps him on the shoulder. “Most people stop what they’re doing with a gun to the back of the head.”

 

“But still.” Blair spots his weapon and holsters it. “I should have been prepared for that.”

 

“We’ve all made that mistake,” Jim says quietly. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what you have me here for.”

 

And Blair knows that’s true, but he also knows that Jim’s tangled with IA before, and while it might have been a clean shoot, they could give him a hard time over it, especially since he’d known one of the victims.

 

If Blair had stayed out of range, if he’d—

 

“And if you hadn’t done what you did, there’s every possibility the perp would have kept on suffocating that kid,” Jim says. “And then you would have had to shoot him.”

 

Blair feels an irrational anger. “I don’t need you to do my dirty work for me.”

 

And Jim gives him an inscrutable look. “This wasn’t dirty work, Blair. This was us taking a murderer off the streets.”

 

~~~~~

 

“So, you want to tell me what you’re really doing in this neighborhood, white boy?” Lady G asks Jim one night.

 

They don’t hang out regularly, since that would do nothing for the carefully crafted image that is Jeff Ennis, but Jim tries to stop by when he can. Lady G might not know who he really is, or what he’s doing here, but she’s not up to any kind of illegal activity Jim would have to bust her for, and she’s—soothing.

 

Around Lady G, Jim feels more centered, more like himself. She’s a touchstone, even if she doesn’t know it.

 

Or maybe she does.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jim blusters.

 

Her eyes narrow. “Seems strange to me that Vice would risk putting a cop on the street, undercover, who had his picture on the front of magazines and newspapers all over the country, but maybe they think the folks in this neck of the woods don’t read.”

 

Jim swallows hard. Lady G has always been a straight shooter, and she wouldn’t have said anything unless she _knew_. “How long have you known?”

 

“Oh, pretty much ever since you sent those gang bangers running,” she admits cheerfully, and since that’s at least two months back, she’d kept his secret that long. “First, I thought maybe you just wanted to disappear, got in with the wrong crowd, but guys like that don’t rescue damsels like me.”

 

Jim is silent for a moment. “A few of them might.”

 

“A few might,” she agrees. “But they are not _you_ , my knight in shining armor.”

 

Jim feels himself flush. “G—”

 

“No, you listen to me,” she insists. “Most people won’t recognize you because they’ll see who they want to see, but there are those who will. There are those who read the magazines and the newspapers, and will watch you rescue someone you shouldn’t give a damn about, and they’ll put two and two together, moustache or no.”

 

Jim shakes his head, although not in disagreement. He just doesn’t know what to do, what department will take him. He’s already got a rep of walking on the wild side, and he’s angry all the time, and he just—

 

G’s big hands frame his face. “You listen to me. You find a way to get out of this life, because sooner or later, it’s going to kill you. Maybe someone recognizes you, maybe you just can’t help yourself, maybe it kills your spirit and you turn into one of those jaded cops who’d walk right past a bunch of kids beating the shit out of me.”

 

The thing is, Jim knows she’s right, he knows that he’s hardening to the life, and if he stays in another year or two or five, he won’t be able to look at himself in the mirror anymore. Any good he could do as Jeff Ennis, or some other alias, will be swallowed up in all the terrible things he’s done in the name of the job, all the terrible things he may bear witness to and do nothing to stop.

 

“I’ll try,” Jim promises.

 

“And I know you’ve got these walls up around here,” G says, patting him on the chest. “But one of these days you’ll find someone who gets past your defenses and sees who you _really_ are. Don’t let that person go.”

 

Jim smiles and puts his hand over hers. “I thought I already had.”

 

G rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Oh, get on with you. I know a flirt when I see one.”

 

Jim spends the rest of the evening with her, but his thoughts are heavy as he walks back to his apartment.

 

And when the opening comes up in Major Crimes, Jim takes the chance and gets out.

 

~~~~~

 

Blair answers IA’s questions over and over again, and they finally let him go. They’re stone-faced through the whole thing, and Blair can’t get a read on them. Simon is waiting for him in the hallway, and Blair isn’t surprised that they haven’t released Jim yet.

 

“How’s it going?” Blair asks, collapsing next to Simon.

 

“They know about his relationship with one of the vics,” Simon replies. “They’re questioning whether he could have subdued the suspect by another means.”

 

Blair is suddenly grateful for the bruises around his throat that are growing more livid by the minute. “They can’t argue with this,” he says, pointing to his throat.

 

Simon raises an eyebrow. “Maybe, but it could also say that Jim has strong feelings for you.”

 

“Would you kill to protect one of your men?” Blair asks.

 

Simon sighs. “Yeah, I would, but I’d still have to talk to IA about it.”

 

Blair tips his head back against the wall. “Yeah.”

 

“You could go home.”

 

“I’ll wait for Jim,” Blair replies wearily.

 

“You sure you don’t need to get checked out?” Simon asks.

 

Blair shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

 

He’s going to have nightmares, but physically, he doesn’t need a doctor.

 

Blair falls asleep as he’s waiting, and wakes with Jim’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Chief. Let’s go home.”

 

“Everything okay?” Blair asks, his voice rough with sleep.

 

“They cleared me,” Jim replies.

 

“And you have three days off,” Simon replies.

 

“Thanks,” Jim says warmly. “We’ll see you in a few days, Simon.”

 

Blair snorts. “A few days puts us into the weekend, so we’ll see you on Monday.”

 

“I want your reports on my desk before then!” Simon calls as they leave.

 

“You want me to drive?” Blair asks.

 

Jim snorts. “You were the one napping. I’m fine.”

 

“IA didn’t give you a hard time?” Blair asks.

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Jim replies. “I killed a man who was killing kids, and who was strangling my partner.”

 

Blair hesitates. “You could have ordered him to stop.”

 

“And you had your gun pressed against his head, and he tried to kill you,” Jim counters. “If I’d warned him, he might have finished you off before I could get a clean shot.”

 

It all sounds plausible, and Blair certainly can’t argue with the results—a serial killer is dead, and Blair is alive. The fact that revenge might have been a small part of Jim’s actions doesn’t detract from either of those things.

 

“Thanks,” Blair says quietly. “I never wanted that. I don’t want you to be the one who always has to do the shooting.”

 

“Next time, I’ll let you do the shooting, assuming you’ve got your gun,” Jim says, gently teasing him. “Don’t worry about it, Blair.”

 

Blair nods. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They arrive at the loft when the sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, and Blair groans. “It’s going to take me several days just to get my days and nights straight again.”

 

“You want to try staying up?” Jim asks. “Might help.”

 

“I’m wiped,” Blair protests. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Jim grabs the back of Blair’s neck and shakes him. “I’m fine. Get some sleep.”

 

Blair means to sleep. He takes a shower to relax, and collapses on his bed in his boxers. He does fall asleep, but his dreams are fractured, and he wakes up gasping, feeling fingers around his throat, and hearing a voice saying “pretty boy.”

 

He drags on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stumbles out to the kitchen to start the coffee, rummaging through the fridge for breakfast.

 

“Chief? You okay? It’s not even noon.”

 

Blair shakes his head. “No reason. Just felt like it was time to get up.”

 

“Nightmares?” Jim asks, and of course he’d know.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Blair says evenly. “You want an omelet? We’ve got what we need for a couple I think. We should probably go to the store today, though.”

 

“Blair,” Jim says softly, and when Blair turns to face him, Jim cups his cheek gently, and runs his thumb along one of the bruises on Blair’s throat. “It’s okay.”

 

“Is it?” Blair asks.

 

“Someone once told me that when I found someone who saw me, really saw me, I shouldn’t let them go,” Jim murmurs. “Do you want me to let you go?”

 

Blair swallows, and then says, “No. Not even a little bit. But Jim, are you okay?”

 

“I am right now,” Jim replies. “We’ll let the future deal with itself.”

 

And Blair lets Jim pull him into a hug that’s full of promise, Jim’s forehead pressed against his, and he just breathes.

 

They’ll need to have that conversation soon, and there’s a teenage Sentinel out there somewhere, and bad guys to chase, but at least they’ll do it together.

 

Right now, Blair can be content with that.


End file.
